


rumor has it

by jarofclay



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1428442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofclay/pseuds/jarofclay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Aomine knows, everyone knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rumor has it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Infiniteskye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infiniteskye/gifts).



> Birthday fic for skye, and also my first attempt at akakuroing.  
> I'm not sure they're criminals, to be honest. At first they were only CIA agents, but then they were killing too many people sooo yeah. whatever.

“So, um,” Aomine starts, forcibly nonchalant as he aims his gun at the forehead of a guy running madly towards him and pulls the trigger, shooting down three other oncoming attackers before the first one can hit the ground lifelessly, “are you shagging Akashi or what.”

The unexpected question delays Kuroko’s reaction enough for him to hear the air hissing only centimeters away from his ear as a fighting knife comes whirling past where his head had been a second before. With one swift movement, he whirls around, with a knife of his own dancing between his fingers, and hurls it at the throat of the man, who doubles over choking on its blade. He inquires noncommittally, “What makes you think that?”

“Well, for instance, you’re both leaving mixed signals all over the fucking base,” Aomine remarks, dislodging the butt of his weapon from someone’s bleeding eye socket. Casually, he flicks some of the dripping blood away. “And while I don’t understand shit about Akashi and his ways of dealing with pent-up sexual tension, I understand _you_.”

“You can be so perceptive toward all sorts of pointless things, Aomine-kun.”

Aomine frowns gravely. “Hey, it’s not pointless! Don’t you always say something like… as partners and stuff, it’s our duty to mutually keep up with the shit we’re up to?”

“I am glad to know you listen to me,” Kuroko says patiently, “but I say that because the stuff  _you_ 're up to usually tends to cause problems for us all.”

Huffing emphatically—and more notably, not denying Kuroko’s words—Aomine tousles his short hair before swinging a fist into the umpteenth attacker’s jaw, which gives a sickening crack at the impact. Then, stopping abruptly despite the chaos of hollering people threatening to cut them open at the first distraction, “Wait, is that a yes?”

Kuroko doesn’t reply; the way he sniffs after his next kill, though, and how his hand shoots up to scratch his cheek, dirtying it with smears of fresh blood, are both pretty telling, in Kuroko’s body language.

“Hah!” Aomine snorts a laugh through his nose, lost on anyone but Kuroko amidst the messy fight. “Really, Tetsu? I can’t believe you’re fucking the _boss_! I didn’t take you as the type who’d fuck their _boss_.”

“Aomine-kun, I’m trying to concentrate on the mission...” Kuroko feebly attempts. But between said mission being leagues far from their hardest one and the fact that they’re also nearing its end—if the increasing number of enemies wisely making a U-turn and scattering is of any indication—Aomine knows they can both multitask this just fine.

“He didn’t coerce you or anything, right?”

Kuroko’s hand moves quicker than Aomine’s eyes can follow, and the sharp knife now flies towards his face. Thankfully, its target is behind him.

“Please,” Kuroko says flatly.

Aomine cringes as the man’s corpse falls against his back and rolls to the ground, probably leaving a trail of blood down his black jacket. He kicks it lightly with his foot, as if it personally offended him by dying like that. “Fair enough. It’s just that… I can’t imagine him doing anything else but kill and order people around, you know? Does he even have any sex drive? Does he even have _feelings_?”

Kuroko rolls his eyes. “He’s not a robot, Aomine-kun.”

“And I suppose you checked that one thoroughly?” Aomine asks, flashing a lopsided smirk, and suddenly Kuroko looks like he's pondering whether to throw another knife and aim for between his eyes this time. Before he can decide to do just that, Aomine prevents any more blood-spilling by making his way through the sea of cracked concrete and dead bodies and stopping in front of him, towering bloody and dirty over a more composed Kuroko pointedly fixing the collar of his white shirt.

“Okay, Tetsu. I’m not going to judge your mega-shitty taste in lovers—oh, don’t look at me like that, we both know it’s true—you can do anything you want with your dick as long as it doesn’t involve Kise. But in exchange, there’s _one_ thing I need to know.” Aomine raises his hands and plops them heavily on Kuroko’s shoulders. Kuroko turns up his nose at the new bloody handprints marring his black suit, but Aomine ignores that, in favor of looking right into his eyes and asking, “Is he any good in bed?”

Kuroko gives him a look.

Aomine groans and throws his arms in the air. “Come on, a person can’t be perfect at everything! It’s a matter of realism and… and statistics! There must be at least one thing he’s not good at. His terrible humor doesn’t count. So I’d say, he’s too weird to be good at sex. My money’s on that.”

“And whose money is _not_ on that, exactly?” Kuroko wonders aloud.

“Huuuuh,” Aomine drawls, looking around for more enemies to slash, except that there aren’t any anymore and he knows that. “I might have been discussing the situation with Satsuki.”

“Momoi-san?” Kuroko repeats, a bit surprised. “What is she betting on?”

“Cooking.”

Kuroko doesn’t comment on that, but Aomine suspects the attempt to clean his red cheek with the edge of his sleeve was done to conceal a twitching lip.

“So? Is he a sex god or not? You’re withholding information, Tetsu. You know how it works: you don’t confirm praise, I consider that a negative—”

 

 

“Aomine-kun has been asking questions,” Kuroko informs him. His fingers trail along the other’s hairline and then sink into the red locks, curling and pulling softly, while warm hands move under his untucked and half-unbuttoned shirt.

“Of what nature?” Akashi asks, barely bothering to halt his meticulous nipping at the crook of Kuroko’s neck in order to speak.

Trapped between the door of Akashi’s bedroom and Akashi himself, Kuroko stares at the ceiling in thought. But then lips slide to Kuroko’s ear and Akashi’s clothed crotch presses down on his, and his eyelids beg to drop closed.

“If you are good at...‘this’. He holds dear the belief that perfection does not exist.”

“Isn’t he bold, making assumptions like that,” Akashi whispers as he nuzzles into Kuroko’s hair and sucks in a deep breath. Kuroko can hear the curve of a tiny smile in that low voice of his, sending shivers across his skin. “So, what did you say?”

“I didn’t... actually answer. I just kicked him.”

Hands cupping his buttocks and tongue tracing the shell of his ear, Kuroko doesn’t feel like talking anymore. The hotness seeping into his skin like a spreading fever, as Akashi’s body presses against his as if trying to melt into it, is enough to distract him from most coherent thoughts.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I wasn’t sure about which… answer to give.”

“What do you mean?”

“Um—” Kuroko’s breath gets stuck in his throat for a moment as Akashi’s crotch grinds more firmly against his, seemingly challenging him to speak any more sense. “You… are… a bit awkward about it? Sometimes.”

Whether it is because the words sink in gradually or because his collected self doesn’t rush even through disbelief, Akashi falls into stillness by steps. Untangling himself from Kuroko unhurriedly and planting his arms on both of Kuroko’s sides, he pulls away very, very slowly—as slowly as he cocks an eyebrow and blinks only once before demanding, “Excuse me?”

“Well, for example, you… sometimes seem to get really distracted and. Say random things out of the blue that kind of kill the mood. Also…” Kuroko’s voice fades, and his tongue darts out to lick his upper lip instinctively. “But. Maybe I just need to be reminded of some things.”

Akashi narrows his eyes and nods, now vaguely amused. “Yes, maybe you do,” he says, and then stares knowingly at Kuroko’s lips tightening almost imperceptibly in a futile attempt to hide his amusement.

“Aomine-kun often tells me I have a bad memory,” Kuroko agrees further, working fast on the remaining buttons of Akashi’s shirt, and when his hand goes to turn the knob poking into his hipbone, the door slides open abruptly under their weight. He’s not sure who’s holding onto who in their clumsy stumble into the bedroom, but it’s surely Akashi who closes the distance between them again by sliding a steady arm around Kuroko’s waist and biting his bottom lip reproachfully.

“What to do about that,” Akashi muses as he pushes him onto the bed, with a sultry expression that, Kuroko’s learnt at his expense, comes far too naturally to him and is also very effective on Kuroko’s body.

 

 

Midorima clicks his tongue once, twice, inhales sharply while his tapered fingers drum rhythmically on the edge of the table where the refined shogi board lies; barely parts his lips, clenches his jaw closed, and then inhales again.

“I’ve been told you engage in sexual intercourse with one of your subordinates.”

Akashi almost smiles—wants to say he’s proud Midorima got that one out without stuttering, albeit a bit rushed, but opts for refraining to do so. He takes one wedge-shaped piece with his thumb and middle finger, instead, and moves it forward with a resounding clack.

“You say that like I’m lingering on ignoble illegal activities in the dark.”

Clicking his tongue again, Midorima looks down at the table and nips at the inside of his bottom lip, pensive. “I’m not. I’m simply stating the facts.”

The game goes on in complete silence until he decides to speak his mind again. “I never realized you were interested in Kuroko like that. Or to this point, anyway.”

“What can I say, he’s a captivating one.” One corner of Akashi’s lips take the slightest upturn as he glances up at Midorima’s frown, half-hidden behind long bangs and glasses. “Don’t you agree?”

Midorima answers only by wordlessly moving his king piece forward, but that day Akashi isn’t in the mood for condoning Midorima’s judgmental reticence.

“Are you chiding me, Shintarou?”

The fact that Midorima looks taken aback proves indeed that Akashi has been overlooking that attitude of his too often, these days. He’s glad there’s no need to nudge him further, though, for Midorima lets out a mild huff and states primly, “Kuroko has always held you in high regard, because of what you did for him in the past.”

One of Akashi’s pieces advances on the board and captures one of Midorima’s bishops. “That may be true. Your point?”

“You know what my point is.”

“I know what _your place_ is,” Akashi says coolly. “Do _you_ know?”

It’s rare for them to get so distracted during a shogi match. When the phone rings in Akashi’s pocket, they’re still facing each other in a staring contest Akashi does not intend to lose. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long before his intransigence bends Midorima’s obduracy, and Midorima surrenders, resuming his turn with an irritated adjustment of his glasses.

The call is short, and when Akashi stands up after ending it, Midorima follows shortly, apparently having already assessed the situation from the overheard bits of conversation.

“Ryouta and Atsushi are having some problems on the field,” Akashi explains anyway, quickly grabbing the two guns lying on the table and putting them back in the holsters hidden on his back. “They ask for reinforcement.”

Midorima gives a curt nod, and their conversation is dropped.

 

 

Lying on his bed naked, Akashi parts his lips in a soundless gasp and that’s when, oddly enough, the conversation comes back to his mind.

“Shintarou might be worried about you.”

“And why would that be,” Kuroko asks flatly from his crouched position between Akashi’s legs, mouth leaving Akashi’s inner thigh only long enough to send him a look that wavers between mild exasperation and confusion. The almost imperceptible frown he’s sporting suggests he’d also like to ask ‘why are you bringing this up now?’ Akashi is disappointed Kuroko doesn’t, because he’s interested in seeing what kind of reaction he would pull out of Kuroko if he answered ‘because I thought it funny.’ Although Kuroko probably already knows that.

“He thinks I’m taking advantage of you,” Akashi elaborates in wonder, adjusting his head on the mattress as Kuroko’s hand keeps stroking him, “and your... lasting childish infatuation with me in order to pursue my selfish purposes.”

“It’s not childish,” Kuroko retorts, and Akashi has to blink in rare, sheer surprise, because seldom does Kuroko miss the point so badly. The fact that he doesn’t even think of denying Shintarou’s words is another thing that amuses Akashi greatly.

“Is that true?” Kuroko asks later, focusing on the relevant side of the matter again—although Akashi is not sure he’s waiting for an answer, since he seems more interested in rubbing a finger over Akashi’s entrance, light and teasing.

Nonetheless, Akashi snorts softly. “You tell me,” he says as he leisurely draws up one leg in an invitation that Kuroko takes without hesitation, sliding one hand up his thigh to the crook of his knee and kissing the skin gently. Akashi smiles lazily, gazing with a pleased face at Kuroko’s naked body with eyes half-closed. “Do you think I’m taking advantage of you?”

With a shrug, Kuroko palms his erection and draws his mouth closer to it. “Even if I didn’t, you could be doing it so that I am unaware of it.”

Closing his eyes, Akashi can’t help but smile.

“But that would imply a lack of perception on your part, Tetsuya. I don’t condone such flaws in my subordinates,” he murmurs—and then exhales sharply, fingers curling in the bedsheets.

Later, it occurs to him that Kuroko hasn’t really answered his question.

 

 

Kuroko is trying to fight off the migraine brought about by the multiple explosions blooming regularly around them outside the shaking hallway they’re running through, when they reach a very strategically convenient breach in the thin wall offering cover. That's also when, crouched down with him among the debris and breathing heavily, Kise starts talking.

“You know, Kurokocchi, Aominecchi told me a funny thing the other day.”

“Kise-kun,” Kuroko interrupts him briskly. “Check your surroundings, think about it, and _then_ decide whether it’s wise to start any kind of conversation right now.”

Unfortunately, Kise interprets his words the wrong way, and after checking right, left and behind them for any living soul—there is one, gurgling blood on the ground; he shoots them down—he assesses the situation as safe enough.

“So we were talking about the boss, right?” he goes on like a chatterbox, as with swift movements they drop the empty magazines of their automatic guns and pull out loaded ones. “We were talking about how he can be a bit… uh, _bossy_ , you know, aaand well, I said something like, ‘Does he have a stick up his ass twenty four seven or what?’ And Aominecchi gave me this look like he was constipated and was like, ‘You could ask Tetsu. He’s probably pretty acquainted with Akashi’s ass by now,’ so I was a bit perplexed and was like ‘Eehhh what do you mean?’ Well. Upon further investigation, I have gathered that Aominecchi seems to live under the delusion that you’re having an affair with Akashicchi. Which of course,” Kise says, pushing the gun’s slide back with an air of ultimacy, “is not true.”

“I am,” Kuroko says, feeling calmer when he hears the sound of both his guns loading. He passes the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead and rests his back against the wall.

“Wha’?” he hears Kise ask distractedly, teeth catching the safety pin of the grenade and pulling it out.

Kuroko sagely waits for Kise to throw the grenade over the heads of their targets and take cover again before elaborating. “I am, Kise-kun. I’m having an affair with Akashi-kun.”

The roar of the detonation beyond the wall and the screams of people dying aren’t nearly enough to cover Kise’s piercing shriek of, “WHAT?!”

 

 

Resting on the couch, arms splayed comfortably on the headrest and tired eyes closed, Akashi sighs in ease as Kuroko, sitting in his lap, can’t resist cupping the other’s face and run his thumb along a pale cheekbone. He leans up to plant a kiss on Akashi’s lips and languidly coax them open, slipping his tongue inside and savoring the taste.

Meanwhile, his other hand nimbly unbuckles Akashi’s belt and pulls the zip down.

Never failing to catch them at the most unfavorable times, his phone starts ringing. The idea of answering doesn’t even occur to him, too busy finally directing his fingers down Akashi’s pants after a long day of work, until Akashi, idly fingering his necktie loose, murmurs laconically between the kisses, “Could be important.”

Kuroko strongly doubts it, but doesn’t oppose useless resistance; with his free hand, he blindly makes a grab for the cellphone that must be lying somewhere beside Akashi’s leg. By the time he finds it, it has stopped ringing.

But before he can safely throw it farther from his reach and out of Akashi’s attention field, it vibrates with the arrival of a new message.

When a familiar name pops up on the screen, Kuroko regrets having ever torn his sight away from Akashi. It’s with mild sense of foreboding and a pained moan ready in his throat that he opens the mail.

_ > Momoicchi and I were thinking of going to grab some dinner together. We were wondering if you’d like to come with us? OR ARE YOU BUSY COMING WITH THE BOSS ;))_

He is an instant away from hurling the phone into the distance when two new messages reach his inbox almost simultaneously.

_ > NO BUT SERIOUSLY TELL US IF WE NEED TO COME SAVE YOU WE DONT TRUST AKASHICCHI UNLESS ITS ABOUT WORK AND YOU SHOULDNT EITHER_

_ > Don’t mind him, Tetsu-kun! He’s just being an idiot. Please enjoy your time with the boss. And remember you still owe us an answer about you-know-what!_

Noticing Kuroko’s stillness, Akashi cracks his eyes open, and frowns upon seeing the unimpressed stare Kuroko’s directing at the offending screen. “What’s it about?”

“Ah,” Kuroko blinks, and quickly presses the delete key with inner satisfaction. “Kise-kun knows it too.”

Curious until a moment before, Akashi’s face now looks like he swallowed a slice of lemon. He sighs then, lowers his eyelids again, and massages them with thumb and middle finger.

“It’s okay,” he asserts with a firmness that sounds very reassuring to Kuroko’s ears. “We can always kill him if he grows too annoying.”

Feeling confident with the plan, Kuroko nods his agreement, shuts his phone with a loud clack and resumes his work.

 

 

“Are you with us, Atsushi?” Akashi asks peeved, standing with crossed arms before a row of bleeding and handcuffed men being led by other agents in front of a wall. Despite the fact that the companion beside him is as large and tall as an armoire, mostly covered in others’ blood and lazily holding a rifle on the shoulder, he appreciates the intuitiveness of most of the prisoners walking by, who aim their fearful and panicked eyes only at him.

In reply, after rolling the cherry lollipop in his mouth twice, Murasakibara says, “I was wondering if Kurochin lacks stamina in bed too or if that’s just a job-related flaw.”

There isn’t anyone paying attention or listening to them, and there's no need for actual concentration: the mission is as good as accomplished. Nonetheless, the temptation of shooting a hole through Murasakibara's leg, even just to relieve some pent-up annoyance, is strong. But for the sake of a greater good—and the fact that Murasakibara is not the one at the core of the problem—Akashi just cracks his neck and comments, “I see you know too.”

“Everyone knows it. The matter has become quite the talk, thanks to Kisechin. He complains a lot when you’re not around. I wonder if he likes Kurochin too…?”

“What Ryouta likes is to make everyone’s life difficult, along with pretending to be the big brother Tetsuya never had and never wanted.” Akashi sighs his displeasure, contemplating sweet dreams of mass demotion he sadly knows will never be fulfilled because otherwise, his special squad is that good. “And he’s not the only one.”

“Minechin?”

“No, Daiki has been surprisingly good. It’s to be expected, I suppose. He knows Tetsuya the best, and is aware that he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself and make his own choices. Maybe I should consider giving him a raise.” On second thought, the memory of a conversation with Kuroko reemerges in his mind, and he ruthlessly crosses out that possibility.

“Everyone sounds so surprised about it,” Murasakibara says.

“Were you?”

“I didn’t really care in the first place. But no, I guess I wasn’t.”

The beige jacket resting on Akashi’s shoulders sways softly with a sudden waft of wind. The horizon is bathed in the colors of twilight and in the distance, there are birds chirping—but the whimpers of pain and the occasional rebellious shouts from wounded enemies drown out the otherwise pleasant atmosphere. Akashi sends the other a smirk, condescending. “Aren’t you going to accuse me of taking advantage of Tetsuya too?”

“Why would I do that? To me, it seems that Kurochin has you eating out of his hand.” Murasakibara cranes his head to slant his gaze in Akashi’s direction, “Am I wrong?”

They lock eyes for a long, silent moment, interrupted only by the cries of someone getting beaten, before they simultaneously look ahead again.

“You’ve always been unbelievably dense, anyway,” Akashi states, in a tone that brooks no argument.

“Yes?” Murasakibara replies in an overly-bored voice, half stating, half questioning, before gesturing at the prisoners with his lollipop. “What do I do with them?”

Akashi spares them a calculating glance before dismissing them with a wave and turning around to walk back to his car. “I'll leave them to you. They’re nothing but the smallest fish, so I doubt they have anything to say. Check that, and then get rid of them.”

 

 

Akashi has been ordering him around since the moment Kuroko set foot in his office that evening. Not that Kuroko particularly minds it: Akashi is in that mood sometimes, and Kuroko always ends up enjoying it more often than not. But he has to wonder if said mood is triggered by the day’s happenings: if it is because something good has taken place, or something bad; if it’s something someone said—or if Akashi just woke up feeling that way, believing that day to be the right one to order Kuroko to make a show of stripping off his clothing in front of him, bend over his desk and ask to be fucked. It’s not like he forces himself on Kuroko—far from that; Kuroko simply has his own indulgent moods, and he enjoys these times when Akashi acts _very_ resourceful—but he tends to be more imposing than usual, as if he’s giving out commands to a subordinate.

He is more calculating, and in control of himself. There’s a lot more receiving than giving, on Kuroko’s part—and a good amount of things done on his own for the pleasure of Akashi’s eyes—as if Akashi doesn’t want to be touched more than it’s due.

So when Akashi pulls out of him and orders him to stop stroking himself and lie down on his back, Kuroko follows: stands upright on weak knees, leans back down on Akashi’s desk and then draws his naked legs up, hooking his ankles behind the small of Akashi’s back as Akashi pushes inside him once again, and Kuroko arches up at the raw sensation of being stretched and filled.

There’s something different in the way Akashi looks at him too. It’s hard to define it, the way his eyes sweep over his face and body, keeping his guard up as he observes him—not his reactions, but _him_.

Driven by the sudden impulse to feel closer, Kuroko reaches up and cups Akashi’s cheek; watches as his jaw clenches and his eyebrows draw together in a small frown. He looks a bit dissatisfied, a bit unsure, halfway through some kind of important assessment—an odd expression on Akashi, and Kuroko can’t say if it’s directed at him or at Akashi himself.

Having perhaps drawn to a conclusion, Akashi moves a hand up to intertwine fingers with his own; then, slowly, he pulls Kuroko’s hand away from his face, grabs the other one too, and brings them over Kuroko’s head, restraining his movements. Nevertheless, when he bends down to kiss him with warm intensity, Kuroko thinks that, no matter how Akashi changes from one day to the other, gone are the times when he felt too far out of Kuroko’s reach.

Kuroko doesn’t try to free himself, and Akashi sinks deeper into him with every thrust.

His breath stops, before a raspy, broken moan pushes its way up his throat. Never ceasing his movements—which only become harsher, quicker, making Kuroko’s toes curl as he squeezes his eyes closed and approaches the edge—Akashi drags one hand to Kuroko’s mouth, the back of a finger softly tracing his lips before slipping past his teeth.

“Be quieter, Tetsuya,” he whispers, husky voice dripping with mischievousness and red bangs damp with sweat; Kuroko feels the muscles in his abdomen tensing in anticipation, and he is unable to look away from Akashi’s magnetic gaze. “The walls aren’t soundproof, here.”

Kuroko’s mouth falls open wide in a silent scream around Akashi’s fingers.

 

 

Kuroko finds Aomine perched on a stool in the weaponry room, carefully inserting a cleaning rod into the barrel of his disassembled gun.

“Akashi-kun sends his regards,” he introduces himself, earning a jump from Aomine along with his attention. Indeed, the latter whirls around on his stool and raises his hand in greeting. But his attention is promptly caught by the little black box Kuroko thrusts at his chest.

“What is this?” he asks confusedly.

“Yakisoba and tonkatsu, made by Akashi-kun himself.”

Aomine eyes the box, appalled; then, with growing wariness.

“Is it poisoned?” he asks dubiously, and Kuroko can see the wheels in his brain rewinding madly, searching his actions—of the past two, six, twelve months even—for one that could have brought Akashi to ask for his head on a plate. Then, one hits him.

“Did you tell him what we talked about?” he asks in horror.

“Yes,” Kuroko admits. When Aomine shoots him the most betrayed look he’s ever seen, he fidgets uncomfortably on his feet. He does feel a bit regretful now, and Aomine seizes the moment at the speed of light.

“...Tetsu,” Aomine starts with hurt staining his voice, “I would have taken a _bullet_ for you.”

Kuroko makes a point of rolling his eyes as hard as he can, because even if his heart feels apologetic, logic clearly says Aomine is just being ridiculous. “Akashi-kun said he’s not one prone to take fruitless revenge against petty people for petty reasons.”

“Really now—wait, did he actually call me _petty_?”

“Yes to both. Indeed, this was actually for me. He prepared it for lunch and I told him I would have eaten some later. He doesn’t know I’m giving this to you.” Biting the inside of his cheek in doubt, Kuroko adds on second thought, “Please don’t tell him. He wouldn’t be happy about it.”

That seems to convince Aomine enough to finally accept the box. “Why are you giving this to me, anyway?” he inquires, sending a narrow glare at him.

Kuroko averts his eyes, noncommittal. “I thought you might want to taste it.”

Slowly, carefully, as if he expects a bomb to blow up at any second, Aomine pops the box open and peeks inside. Giving one last suspicious glance at Kuroko, he comes to terms with it and finally picks up the chopsticks, taking a bite out of the dish.

A staggered frown blooms on his face. “God, this… this is not uneatable like Satsuki’s, but close enough.”

Kuroko doesn’t say anything. He has to wait for Aomine to take another few bites of food before he can witness the realization dawning on the other, making his eyes widen like saucers and his mouth drop open, half-chewed meat well in sight. Kuroko’s lips barely twitch.

“Say hi to Momoi-san on my behalf,” he says, before turning around and walking out of the room, leaving behind an Aomine gaping at him like he’s just been personally outraged.

From the hallway, he can hear his partner groan, “Oh _come on_!”

**Author's Note:**

> hello goodbye what did i write


End file.
